Chapter 3

My dearest, sweet Bim,

I can neither begin to explain the strong feelings that have surfaced since we reconnected, nor the feelings of gratitude and happiness that sweep through me for having you back in my life. But I am glad we are back together. Our time together was so intensely intimate that I couldn't bering myself to discuss one important aspect of my life while you were here. I thought it better to take it up later. The two days you were here was time enough for us to be together, to pick up where we had left off years ago.

I am writing this as a note to answer a question you had asked that I didn't fully clarify, but, more importantly, to avoid any misunderstanding between us that may arise later. And by telling you all, I hope to deepen my connection with you as my partner, companion, soul-mate, and lover. Whatever you do as you read these lines, please do not to jump to any conclusion without due consideration. Writing it out gives me the time to order my feelings and include all the details that are important — as well as arousing, I hope. And, hopefully, it gives you enough time for detached deliberation of my experiences and your feelings towards it before you decide what to do next.

When you were here, you had asked me how I came to be so much more comfortable with my sexuality - particularly anal play - than in the past. I told you that I was experimenting and showed you the probe. But, I chose not to tell you about the events that led me to its acquisition, which is what I want to share with you now. Since this is a reminiscence of sorts, I've tried to reconstruct some of the verbal exchanges to better express the mood and texture of my experiences.

You may remember Sylvie, the research associate that I mentioned her to you in passing. She's the doctoral student from the nearby University who's assisting my team with the research. While I told you how much I valued her statistical knowledge and skills, I didn't disclose my relationship with Sylvia in full. You see, the changes that you saw in me were in part due to her and what we experienced together.

By now, the smart man that you are, you've probably surmised that I am intimate with Sylvie - that is indeed so. And, yes, that does mean that I'm bisexual, as is Sylvie. But I could have told you that in two sentences:

"Sylvie and I are bisexuals. We love each other."

That wouldn't begin to scratch the surface of my feelings towards her and how it may affect what you and I have. So, I'll tell you all that transpired and trust you to draw your own conclusion.

I met Sylvie at a three day conference on Hospital Administration practices in Detroit, slightly more than a year ago. It was for academics, researchers, and clinical staff from universities, research institutions (mine included), insurance companies, and hospitals. I presented a paper on the first afternoon of the conference about the interim results of the study that I am heading that I told you about. It was about the recovery rates of patients at hospitals and potential influencing factors. The preliminary results from the study looked promising, even if inconclusive. Our Director, Dr. Tim Brinker, asked me to present the findings at the conference to see if we could find collaborators from other states and institutions who were willing to corroborate our results.

There were only 30 odd people in the room as I got into the presentation and I felt a bit disappointed with the low turnout. However, judging by the questions from the audience and the applause at the end, it seemed that my presentation was well received. As I stepped off the podium, a few people came up to meet me. There were several hospital administrators and researchers who wanted to be notified of the results when the study formally concluded. Two institutions — an insurance company on the west coast, and, a government health care institution in UK — wanted to collaborate. They even promised to put us in touch with other organizations. Needless to say, I was elated that we had the collaborators we had set out to find.

The last in line was a young woman, who wore a pleasant smile. She wore a bright red bow tie that had caught my eye even when I was up on the podium. Up close, she looked rather young for the crowd as most attendees were in their 30's and 40's — unlike the older academic and research staffers that attended such conferences. She introduced herself, in a husky voice, with a shy, but open smile.

"Hi, Ms. Fontaine. I am Sylvia Tochini I really liked your presentation and your initial results seem truly fascinating. It seems to indicate possibilities for improving the overall efficacy of hospital treatment."

"Nice to meet you Ms. Tochini," I said as we shook hands - her hand rested so softly in mine that my grip felt rather harsh in contrast - curious as to why someone so young would be interested in such an area, "Thank you for the kind words."

I still remember my initial impression of her. Her straight brunette hair was done in a Louise Brooks bob. Full, fleshy lips, decorated with a hint of flesh colored lipstick, accentuated her soft, broad face. Her shy, subdued, yet broad smile bared a neat row of white teeth. Her somewhat formal attire stood out: the dark grey, knee-length woolen skirt went well with cream colored silk shirt, tucked neatly in at the waist. Other than a Baum & Mercier watch, she wore few jewelry and what she had on, was subdued rather than ostentatious. The red bow tie was complemented by the gold studs in her ears, mounted with small, bright red stones. Her classic pumps, with four inch heels, still left her an inch or so shorter than me. I took a liking to her right away.

"By the way, please call me Sheila - no need for formalities," I added, "What was the specific aspect of the research that piqued your interest?"

"Thank you, Sheila. Likewise, friends calls me Sylvie," she said, her hand lingering in mine, "In fact I'd like to work with you. You see, I am looking for a research topic with a fair amount of statistical analysis for my Doctoral dissertation. Besides being a superb applied research topic, I think there's a lot of potential for statistical work in what you're doing. If you can spare some time either today or tomorrow, we can discuss some ideas I have."

She gave me a quick summary of her background. Sylvie had started on her Ph. D. in mathematics a year ago, and was now searching for a dissertation topic. She was hoping to work on a problem with a fair amount of statistical analysis, her area of specialization. She had done some pre-med work as well. She came to the conference hoping to find a topic where she could use her somewhat eclectic mix of skills. She offered to introduce me to the head of her dissertation committee, who, she felt, would surely be supportive of the topic and of her collaborating with my team. Besides, the university that she attended was just three hours drive away from our institute, she could come over and work with my team on a regular basis as well.

Since I had not much else to do at the conference but attend other sessions, I decided to discuss Sylvie's proposal. In addition, I was intrigued by her and, as I realized soon after, instinctively attracted to her.

As the room was filling up for the next session, we walked out. When I proposed that we find someplace to sit and talk, Sylvie suggested that we go to the Marriott at the Renaissance center since it was close by Cobo Hall. When I mentioned that I was staying there, she smiled and said that she too was checked in there. Back at the hotel, once we were seated at the River Bar, she grabbed the wine menu.

"Ah. The '98 Yalumba Shiraz," she nodded her head, and then, looked up at me, "Would you like a glass of wine Sheila? Allow me to treat you for taking the time to talk with me."

"Sure. But, this treat's mine Sylvie," I insisted, and then asked, "Is 98 a particularly good year for Australian wine? Or is it the winery?"

"Well, I've had it once before - 98 is an excellent year for Aussie Shiraz — and I hear the winery is pretty good, although I've never been there," she paused, gesturing for the waiter with a sure wave, before turning back to continue, "Yes, I am interested in wine, although I'm not much of connoisseur. At least not yet."

While she ordered the wine along with a platter of cheese, I glanced at the price of the bottle on the menu. My hunch that Sylvie was not the average graduate student who had to get by on a meager assistantship was correct. I asked her how she ended up doing a doctorate in math in association with the medical school and she told me a bit more about herself after the waiter came by with the wine and cheese.

Her parents were both doctors and owned a hospital in a smaller city in the mid-west. As the only child of two working parents, she ended up spending a fair amount of her time after school at the hospital. At the university, wishing to please her parents, she enrolled in pre-med since both of them wanted her to take over the hospital eventually. But, after a year, it became painfully clear that she was bored. She missed math, her favorite subject in high school, and didn't like pre-med at all. She switched her major, much to the disappointment of her parents, and went on to complete a Master's in statistics. After working at an insurance company for a year as an actuarial researcher, she decided to enter the Doctoral program, and, after the first semester, persuaded her Doctoral advisor that it be in applied statistics in the medical field. But she was having trouble finding an interesting and challenging enough topic in the area. A friend of her parents' - a research professor at the Medical school - had mentioned the conference to Sylvie and suggested that she might try her luck by attending the sessions. That's how she ended up in my session.

I, in return, told her about our institute: Dr. Brinker, my team, the hospitals where we were gathering data, and what we were hoping to accomplish. By her questions about the nature and type of data we were collecting and how they were relevant to the hypothesis that we had started with, I could see that she was a smart cookie. She seemed to grasp the medical aspects of our research rather quickly, aided by her work experience at her parents' hospital and the one year of pre-med work.

Sylvie explained the basics of the statistical techniques and experiments that she felt would enhance the research. She felt that it'd be useful to include additional types of data, such as the environmental causal factors, qualification of the medical team, physical condition of the neighborhood, etc. It was clear to me that she could contribute to our work and I would never get the time and input from the few statistical experts at the research institute as I would from having someone like Sylvie on the team. We quickly decided that it'd be best for her to meet Dr Brinker and my team for a mutual evaluation session. I thought we'd be able to give her a part time position, but, she never brought up the question of the financial arrangement that evening.

That decided, our conversation drifted to other topics, and we had begun to warm up to each other on our way through the second glass of the Shiraz. I asked her the question that had been stewing in my head.

"So, what's with the bow tie and the Louise Brooks look, Sylvie?"

"Oh, that. I always liked bow ties — dad wears it all the time. And I adore Louise — she's so sexy! Have you seen Pandora's Box?" she asked, head tilted to the side, her silky hair sliding smoothly on her upturned cheek, while a shiny sheet of it fell away to her shoulder on the other side.

"Oh, yes, and 'The Diary of a Lost Girl' as well. She was quite suave in those roles, wasn't she?" I said, pleased to run into someone so young who appreciated the silent flickers.

"Wow! That's rare. I don't run into too many people who are interested in those movies, leave alone German movies from the 20's or 30's," she responded, echoing my sentiments.

"Nor do I," I paused before complimenting her, "The bow tie goes well the hair Sylvie, even if I had never seen Louise in that combo. Quite elegant, I must say."

"Thanks. But my dad thinks that the tie is too showy on a woman — he says it's provocative, even though he doesn't see it that way about himself when he wears one," she laughed, winking her eye.

I liked her laughter. It came gurgling from deep within her, bursting out in a trill and then receded into a subdued giggle. Before long, we were into an involved discussion about movies. She was an aficionado of the type of art house, foreign movies that I (and you) like. Eventually, I blurted out the second question that I wanted to ask her, fortified as I was by two glasses of wine.

"Excuse me for being forward Sylvie, but how old are you? If you don't mind me asking..."

"It's alright. I am twenty six. Do you think that's too young?"

Too young for what, I wondered.

"Oh no, not really. I was curious because you seemed so well informed. That's all," I hesitated, and then added, "I am thirty four by the way. Since you told me your age, it's only fair that you should know mine."

But, my explanation didn't ring true. I wondered why I was so interested in comparing our ages.

"Why, thank you Sheila. It's nice of you to be so candid," She smiled, "I had pegged you at about thirty."

"Thanks Sylvie. You're too generous," I said, pleased with her compliment.

I was glad for Sylvie's company and buoyed by our easy banter. Her pleasant manners and elegant appearance were a contrast to the preening, stiff, and all too earnest academic types that came to such conferences.

"Listen Sylvie, I was supposed to meet my colleagues for dinner. But, I can reschedule it if you're free to join me tonight. We can discuss more of this beastly research work, or, movies and simply have an easy time," I offered, my mind made up.

"Oh, yes, certainly! I'd love that Sheila. In fact, I was wondering if you are free today evening as well. The Greek town is nearby and there's some good food to be had there," she replied eagerly.

As you can imagine Bim, I was delighted that she was adventurous when it came to cuisine. After I called my colleagues and explained the change of plans, we finished the wine and went off to a restaurant in the nearby Greek town. During dinner, our conversation drifted around movies and directors, places she had been to, books and such. She appreciated some of my favorite European directors. She recommended movies by Japanese and Chinese directors that I had neither heard of nor seen. Apparently her interest in Asian cultures led her to many of the obscure directors from the region. She talked about her last trip to Japan — her impression of the architecture, culture and people and how much she loved staying in old Japanese Inns and of exploring the less crowded villages on the western coast.

Altogether, it turned out to be a very enjoyable evening and I was glad I had asked her to dinner. Afterwards, we took a cab back to the hotel and got into the elevator. When only one of the floor buttons lit up after both of us punched our respective floors on either side of the door, I glanced up at her, puzzled, only to see her staring at me with a quizzical expression.

"Looks like we're both on the same floor, Ms. Fontaine," she laughed, shrugging her shoulders.

"So it is," I smiled back at her, finding the way she addressed me formally curiously exciting.

Stepping off the elevator, she walked with me along the corridor and stopped at the room before mine, on the opposite side of the corridor.

"What a coincidence, eh?" I said, as I stood in front of my room, fishing for the card key in my handbag.

"You're not Canadian, eh?" She giggled, retrieving her key, "Believe me, nothing's a coincidence. The universe has its purpose."

"Oh, no, I'm not from Canada. But, I picked up the "eh!" from an ex-Indonesian boyfriend of mine, who attended high school in Canada," I said, still struggling with the unyielding lock, "How about that, eh?"

"Indonesian? How very interesting," she paused, without making a move to open her door, "And now?"

I shrugged my shoulder, "Now, I'm waiting for Godot; or, perhaps for the Universe to reveal its purpose?"

She laughed and turning to me, asked shyly, "It's just eight o'clock Sheila. Would you like to join me over a glass of St. Emillon in my room? I think you'll like it."

"You're quite the wine connoisseur, Sylvie," I said, happy with her invitation, "Well, one more glass wouldn't hurt, I suppose."

We entered her room and after getting the bottle, Sylvie called room service for a wine cork pull. After taking off her jacket and tie, and unbuttoning the collar of her silk blouse, she turned towards me to take my jacket. I vividly remember noting that her breasts were bigger than mine and the embarrassment that arose from that comparison sending a sheet of warmth across my cheeks. Luckily, she turned away from me to answer the knock on the door. It was the bell hop who had come to deliver the wine pull. She expertly opened the bottle and poured the wine. We settled into the sofa, facing each other. Taking a sip from the glass and nodding her head in approval, she asked me somewhat hesitantly, as if she was afraid to offend me.

"So, tell me about your Indonesian ex-boyfriend from Canada, if you don't mind. He sounds quite exotic."

"Oh, Bima Sarit. Hmm ... That was several years ago, when we were both living in a different city in the South. He's very nice, but we talk rarely now," I said, musing about us, "We were going steady, but I broke up with Bim when I moved here."

I felt comfortable with Sylvie, although she was so much younger. Bim, I told her about our time together and a bit about what I liked about you. I remember the sense of loss I felt when I mentioned your knowledge of European cinema, Sylvie was surprised that an Indonesian would be interested in European culture. So I gave her a bit of your background: that you were schooled in Europe and Montreal, and had moved around a bit as the son of a diplomat. And how your family had decided to settle here after Suharto came to power. Sylvie immediately remembered "The Year of Living Dangerously."

"He sounds like a fascinating man Sheila. Sorry it didn't work out with him."

"Thanks Sylvie. But, c'est la vie," I said, and tried to change the topic, "Well, what about you? Don't you have one or more boy friends?".

Sylvie blushed and looked down at her glass of wine. After a few seconds, she looked up at me.

"Well, you see, hmm ... I am ... well, I just broke up with my partner," and, she was silent for a longer while, before continuing haltingly, "It was a ... err ... umm ... ah ... I was seeing a woman, you see."

My expression must have changed, because she averted her gaze, looking down at the wine glass instead. It wasn't so much shock at her sexual orientation as much as the fact that she'd trust me enough to reveal such a thing so early. But, her admission also gave me a certain satisfaction. Perhaps it was because she trusted me enough to reveal such intimate details. But, I was to realize soon enough that it was more than that...

"Sylvie, are you a lesbian?" I asked, rather emboldened by her confession.

"No, I ... well..." she replied, shaking her head, her hair dancing like a diaphanous silk curtain around her head, "I am bisexual."

She seemed nervous and I felt sorry for the discomfort that this shy, friendly, and exquisitely well mannered young woman must have felt. Surely, it took much courage for her to reveal such private details to someone she had only met a couple of hours ago. I was touched that she trusted me enough to tell me such personal details.

"Sylvie. It's okay. It's all right. Really, I have nothing against lesbians or bisexuals. In fact, a couple of my school friends and colleagues are gay," I said, trying to reassure her, but she wouldn't lift her eyes from the wine glass.

Instinctively, I leaned forward and lifted her face up with a finger to her chin, wanting to reassure and comfort her. Her skin felt very soft and her eyes were wavering, as if unsure.

"Please look at me Sylvie. It's fine. Really," I reassured her again.

"Are you ... I mean ... by any chance ... you're not?" she asked, her voice quivering.

I understood the question she wanted to ask but wasn't comfortable asking outright. And it was my turn to feel awkward, and I caught myself looking down at my wine glass. But, I certainly wanted to reciprocate the trust and openness she had shown me.

"Well, if you're asking me if I'm bi or lesbian, I can tell you that so far, no," I answered as evenly as I could, still looking down.

"Ah," she paused, as if expecting something more, and I wasn't sure if I detected some disappointment in her voice, "Thanks for being honest with me Sheila, and for accepting me as I am."

"Sylvie, are you ashamed of being bi?" I said, looking up at her again.

"No, no. I'm fine with it. It's just that ... I don't want you to be offended. I really want to work with you, you know. I seem to have really taken our conversation off in a direction I should not have." Her eyes were wavering, as if she was unsure again.

"Oh. Jeez. You don't have to worry about that Sylvie."

But, I was confused — I felt sorry for her somehow, as if I had disappointed her. Yet, at the same time, there was a sense of mounting excitement inside me that was puzzling. What I said next took even me by surprise.

"But, I do fantasize about such things, you know."

"Oh?" she seemed relieved, even enlivened again, "Really? What sort of fantasies might they be?"

"Uh huh. You know, the usual..." I regretted my admission, even though it was only meant to reassure.

"Mmm ... You're blushing, Sheila." Sylvie giggled and then added, "And it's very becoming of you."

Her comment stoked the heat rising on my face, making me feel truly embarrassed. Our eyes were locked and I could sense a lingering nervousness in her eyes.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't feel like it..." she said, and then added hastily, "Oh, God!! I am being rude, aren't I?"

"It's okay Sylvie. I don't mind," I replied, and continued, shocking myself yet again "Well, you know being with another woman, or, even with two men, or a couple. That sort of thing ... But, I haven't really felt that sort of attraction towards anyone in real life."

Sylvie seemed relieved as she laid her hand on mine. The silence that fell between us seemed to go on and on, but it was a comfortable sort of silence. When she spoke again, she sounded a lot more at ease, even if not completely comfortable.

"Perhaps it's rude of me to bring up such a topic and ask you intimate questions about your personal life," she said, "I'm sorry if I've caused any discomfort Sheila."

Sylvie seemed so sensitive and well meaning. I appreciated her sentiment and even the nature of our discussion despite the awkwardness of it.

It was precisely at that moment that I felt the urge to kiss her along with the realization that the confusion I felt before was due to the inability to recognize and express my attraction towards her. It went beyond friendship into murky desires that I had not felt towards another woman before that night.

That realization completely unnerved me. I sat there looking into her eyes not knowing whether to give in to this insistent urge to touch her, to feel her skin glide on mine. Impelled by some internal confidence that still confounds me, I reached for her with open arms. She moved into me, unhesitating, as if she understood. I hugged her and felt her sob and then go quiet, her head resting on my shoulder, her soft hair brushing my cheek.

She smelled wonderfully fresh and feminine. I bent my head to her slender neck and kissed where it joined the line of her jaw. Sylvie stiffened initially and then relaxed. Straightening up, I moved my head back until we were facing each other.

"Sheila..." she began and then broke off, starting again, "Please understand. I don't want to do anything that'll affect our relationship. I want to get to know you. And to learn from you and work with you. I don't want to ruin that."

"Hush, hush, you silly girl," I said, laying a finger on her lips, "Nothing can go wrong anymore. I want this as much as you do."

She started softly kissing the finger resting on her lips. I watched helplessly, my breath gathering pace as she kissed my finger gently, all the while looking into my eyes for reassurance, her mouth moving slowly up the finger while her hand turned it around, up and down. I became aware of the drumbeat of a strong pulse on my neck. When she kissed her way to the top of the finger, she took the tip into her mouth with a low moan. My finger slid into her mouth, into the pool of her saliva, and then her tongue swirled around it, as if trying to get a fix on its shape. I struggled to maintain a steady breath, trying to calm myself, but failed. Sylvie slowly slid my finger out, wrapping her hand around it, stroking it as if it were an erection. I could feel the familiar tingle in my groin and the attendant pleasure waves starting in my abdomen.

My mind was made up. Although I barely knew this young woman, I was determined to express the unfamiliar passion that I felt towards her.

"I want to ... I'd like to..." She whispered, struggling with the words.

"It's alright. You can say it," I whispered, "go ahead. Say it, Sylvie."

"I want to please you Sheila. Whatever you desire, I'll do it," she said, her eyes imploring.

"Oh, honey. You're so sweet and kind to me," I said, touched but not quite sure what she meant, "But, you're more experienced in these things than I am."

She hesitated, her eyes searching mine for reassurance, "In that case, may I undress you? Please?"

"Yes, Sylvie, sure."

Sylvie stood up, and I followed, moving to the foot of the bed. She started unbuttoning my blouse, still looking into my eyes as if to make sure that I wasn't going to change my mind. I felt her tremble as she took my left wrist to loosen the clasp on the sleeve. After unclasping the other sleeve, she looked up at me.

"Please turn around Ms. Fontaine," she murmured, addressing me formally again.

As I stood facing away from her, she pulled my blouse off, one sleeve at a time. In the mirror to the side of the bed, I saw her neatly fold and drape the blouse over one of the chairs. Turning towards me again, she unzipped my skirt. I stepped out of them, and she bent down, her fingers brushing my calves before she picked up the skirt. Again, she neatly folded and draped it with a methodical gentleness. I saw my reflection, clad only in stockings, panties and bra, and wondered if she found me attractive. When she turned back from the chair, Sylvie's gaze met mine in the mirror.

"You're so beautiful Sheila," she swallowed, as if sensing my question, "I want to pleasure you in so many ways. Whatever you want, I'm willing..."

I was puzzled by these earnest entreaties from her, as if she wanted me to tell her what exactly to do. It was almost like she was pleading with me to show her the way.

"But, first, it's your turn Sylvie. Let's take care of you first, shall we?" I said, partly excited by the prospect of seeing her naked, but also stalling for time as I wasn't sure how I should respond to her request.

Stepping towards her, I started undoing the buttons of her silk shirt. She unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the ground. I removed her shirt, leaving her standing in her bra, facing away from me. She quickly took it from my hands and picking up her skirt and went through her ritual of folding and draping them neatly on the chair.

Her body was so soft, full and rounded compared to mine. Not that she is plump - just fleshier, more feminine than me. I wanted to reach out and grab her by the hips and pull her into me, but I held back. Turning around, she knelt down at the foot of the bed, and, I sat instinctively on its edge. She took my left foot, and resting it on her thigh, loosened the shoe. Her hands reaching for the top of my garter stockings set off of sheets of sensations that danced deliciously on my skin, and I could feel the moisture seeping out of my quim. I wondered excitedly if she could see the wet patch on my panties. As a matter of fact, I wanted her to see how aroused I was.